


This hardest of hearts unhardened

by kuropit



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Homophobic family, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miklan is mentioned so of course, Pining, Sylvain is trying to cope ok, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, more tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 10:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuropit/pseuds/kuropit
Summary: "Miklan was dead. The oppressive weight of House Gautier now fell solely on Sylvain’s shoulders. It felt as if his bones would splinter underneath it all, that deep fissures would run through them, and one day he may just fall apart completely.There was no place in House Gautier for his perversions, his father had made sure he’d known that since he was born."Sylvain carries heavy emotions that poison his mind, ones he knows he can never act on. After watching Miklan die in front of him the reality becomes too real; his purpose - the only reason he was alive - is to wed a pretty girl he feels nothing for while the only person he's ever felt anything close to real for stands right beside yet out of reach.He tells himself he's coping.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 48





	This hardest of hearts unhardened

**Author's Note:**

> I just like to make Sylvain suffer :)  
> Thanks Noah for betaing this so I can fool ao3 into thinking i have a brain  
> Idk where this is gonna go also............I have no plan but want to write more ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Miklan was dead. The oppressive weight of House Gautier now fell solely on Sylvain’s shoulders. It felt as if his bones would splinter underneath it all, that deep fissures would run through them, and one day he may just fall apart completely. Of course -- with his brother disowned for a number of years now -- he had been well aware of what House Gautier expected of its lord-to-be; a worthy wife preferably of higher standing, a lavish public wedding to quell the thirst for pageantry, but most importantly, Sylvain was expected to sire children. Not just any children, but children who bore the crest of Gautier like himself. Children to satisfy the father that was never satisfied with _him_. But now, with the sound of Miklan’s flesh blistering ringing through his ears, boiling his mind in tar, he could practically feel the women clawing at him Not at his heart, but into his blood, into the very cells that carried his crest so they might get a hold of it for themselves.

And suddenly the night air around the monastery grounds no longer cooled his face, instead Sylvain was seven. He was seven, being told to sit upright at the table lest he ever keep a woman. Then he was ten, and while Miklan watched, his father struck him for asking if it was possible for one boy to marry another. Twelve and forcing his gaze to female classmates instead of what he caught himself staring at. Thirteen and freezing at the bottom of a well, not sure he wanted to find a way out, relishing in the way the cold bit at his horrible mind, reassuring him that it could all end now, finally.

There was no place in House Gautier for his _perversions_ , his father had made sure he’d known that since he was born.

The creak of the training grounds door snapped him out of it. Somehow in his mindless wandering he found himself there, now pushing against the heavy door to open it with his shoulder. He bit back a laugh at that; maybe it was his subconscious trying to get him to do _something_ \- that thing he’d been putting off for as long as he could remember - or maybe he just secretly wanted himself to suffer. Right now the latter felt more likely.

He was there, of course. His childhood friend stepped around a training dummy and for a second Sylvain allowed himself to simply watch. To savour the sight of Felix - Felix’s inky hair pulled back into a bun with just a few loose strands slick against his forehead, Felix’s slender legs underlined by his tight uniform trousers, Felix’s sweat dripping down his neck and under his shirt. For a second his whole world was the sharp spirit in front of him; the way he wanted it to be, the way he let pull him into sleep each night.

“What.” The boy huffed when he noticed he had company. He stopped shifting around but remained at battle stance, training sword twirling between his long fingers as he took a breather. He eyed the intruder with a glare distinctly lacking its usual venom; the last mission had been hard but everyone - especially Dimitri, Ingrid, and Felix - knew the toll it must have taken on Sylvain in particular.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“You know I could say the same to you too, right?” Sylvain tried to quip though his throat was dry from disuse and crying. Felix just huffed in response and set the training sword back against the wall. With the shorter boy’s back to him, Sylvain allowed a shaky breath. What was he doing here? His hands pulled down his face.

“Are you-” Felix had turned back around and stared at him, he swallowed as he appeared to mentally map out his sentence. “The mission was- I mean, we had to-” Felix’s mouth scrunched to the side and his eyes shot to the ground.

“I’m fine, Felix.” Sylvain smiled; if there was one skill he had refined from practice, it was lying through his teeth. Though Felix just clicked his tongue at that, maybe a symptom of having a rough family life himself.

“You don’t have to lie to me you know. Or Ingrid or the boar.” His amber eyes lay squarely on Sylvain’s mouth - Felix never was one for eye contact.

“As if I would ever lie to you, my favourite little guy.” In two strides Sylvain was next to him, signature smile unnaturally taut across his face as his hand snaked round to Felix’s shoulder, who tensed under the touch and predictably shot out from under it.

“Sylvain.” Felix simply sneered, then straightened himself out next to the taller boy.

“I’m not one of your whores. You can’t just come to me to drown your emotions. Go find some unsuspecting maiden for that.”

“Wow, Felix.” The smile never wavered, but it hurt. “You really have a way with words.”

_“I’ll never love you” Felix said inside Sylvain’s mind. “I’ll never kiss you, feel anything for you. Never grow old with you, never have your name on my lips as I’m washed with euphoria that you gave me. You’ll never hear my most intimate sounds and keep them in your heart. You can’t have it and I won’t ever give it to you.”_

Sylvain tried to bite back at his thoughts, but knew they’d win like always. There was nothing for him here. Not in the training grounds where his oldest friend stood before him, not the academy he was sent to to become a “man more befitting the Gautier name”, not the House he was cursed into, nor the arms of the women he resented. The only thing he had left, the only thing that he would ever have, was the small corner of his mind he kept locked away, the poisonous emotions he didn’t know how to deal with.

Sylvain’s arm moved on its own, it snapped down to Felix’s wrist and held it like a vice. Felix’s eyes shot up to meet Sylavin’s own, face unreadably caught between a scowl and confusion. And that was all it took then; looking into the pair of auburn eyes that haunted him, Sylvain allowed himself to ruin the one thing he held onto. His free hand quickly rested against the back of Felix’s head, and he dipped his head down to press his lips against the swordsman’s own.

Sylvain had put much thought into how Felix would taste over the years. He’d settled on peppermint, befitting of his cool and sharp nature. He hadn’t expected the feeling of kissing Felix to come with the warmth of cinnamon - he tasted spiced and dark, like an autumn night crisp on his tongue. Felix was surprisingly lax under him and he needed more, needed to taste every centimetre of his best friend, so he took it.

He let his tongue flick against Felix’s chapped lips until they opened, and desperately crashed their teeth against each other, almost dependant on chasing Felix’s taste. He kept taking whatever he could, didn’t want to stop for air, if he drowned against Felix’s lips it was how he wanted to die.

Felix meanwhile had short circuited. His brain was screaming at full volume but none of his muscles seemed to be listening. Sylvain still held him, arms migrated down around the back of his waist with the weight of an iron bar, and Felix simply stood. He wanted to push away, to claw at Sylvain’s shoulders until he could drag himself free, to howl profanities at Sylvain and throw punches, but he didn’t.

They both went without air for what felt like a lifetime before Sylvain finally pulled back, a string of saliva between them as Felix’s wide eyes met Sylvain’s own pupils blown wide. Felix’s mouth gaped for a second wordlessly with his brow furrowed, then a hand quickly slapped against Sylvain’s cheek. “Ah!” They were out of each others’ personal space in an instant as Sylvain staggered backward and Felix skipped out of his reach.

“Sylvain.” He practically spat.

“That’s it,” Sylvain rubbed his hand against his red cheek. “Tell me you hate me. I’ll leave.”

Felix’s scowl softened. “If this is your idea of coping I can’t say it’s any good.” It was deadpan as ever but there was a hint of lightheartedness behind it. “I’m not an idiot, Sylvain. And I’m not immune to emotions. I know when you’re hurting. And I know what you do when you’re hurting.”

Sylvain huffed out a breath and Felix actually closed the gap between them. His brow furrowed in thought for a second. “When Glenn died I-” He looked only at his friend’s feet. “I-”

“You think this is about Miklan?” Felix looked up at that, the faint amusement in Sylvain’s voice. “If I’ve learnt anything from you it’s to bury my dead.” Another shaky breath and his eyes cast down, refusing to meet Felix’s.

“Felix,” He didn’t say anything more, and after a few beats in silence stepped back. “Fuck.”

“Sylvain,”

The redhead just made for the door and the winter air tingled against his still sore cheek as he opened it and stepped outside, not looking back.


End file.
